Chapter Fifty-Nine #2
I come so hard I black out for a second. It’s not even a scream, it’s a full-body seizure of pleasure, one hand clawing at Benji’s chest, the other grasping uselessly at the air.
Rhys slams in deep and stills, his growl right in my ear as he spills inside me. He’s shaking. I can feel it. His teeth graze my shoulder.
“She’s mine,” he whispers. “Mine. I want to fucking brand you.”
And then he does, his hand smearing the cake-flavored paint across my lower back as he bites my shoulder.
Jett makes a sound like he’s being denied oxygen. “Fuck, fuck. Look at me, mine.”
I blink up, dazed, dizzy, wrecked. He drowns me with it, thick and hot and endless. He curses, drops, and leans forward to rest his forehead to mine.
We’re all breathing like we just survived something fatal.
Benji strokes my thigh as I collapse on his chest, still trembling.
Rhys is holding my hips like he’s considering keeping me right there forever.
Jett’s hand stays on my jaw, thumb swiping his release from my lips like a fucking claim.
I can’t stop smiling.
Paint. Come. Sweat. Bite marks.
My boys.
My mess.
My ending.
And god, what a filthy, beautiful ending it is.
I can’t move. I don’t even want to. I’m puddled on Benji’s chest, coated in sweat, come, and strawberry paint. My thighs are quivering, my lips are numb, and I think I left my soul somewhere around orgasm number three.
Benji hums, hands gentle where they stroke my hips. His voice is warm syrup when he murmurs, “Hey, precious. You still with us?”
I nod. Or I try to. It’s more of a blorp.
Rhys is behind me still, but I feel him ease out with slow care and an audible breath. He brushes my hair off my back and runs the backs of his knuckles down my spine. “Deep breath, Delilah. Let me see you.”
I peel my cheek off Benji’s chest and blink up, wrecked and gooey. Rhys crouches next to us. His fingers go straight to my pulse point, his gaze scanning like I’m the most critical patient in his care. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“I don’t know, Rhys, I’m too full of art and jizz.”
“She’s fine,” Jett grunts from across the room. He’s wiping himself off with a paint-smeared towel and glaring like he didn’t just come so hard his knees buckled. “She’s still mouthy.”
“I’m medically required to assess her post-scene wellness,” Rhys says.
“She needs a goddamn sandwich and a nap,” Benji says.
“She needs to come again,” Jett growls.
“Jett,” Benji warns, cradling me tighter. “You even look at her pussy before she has a snack and a snuggle, I will lay you out, bro.”
“You and what army?” Jett says.
“Me,” I croak, “and also the entire FDA, probably. I’m gonna need regulated care to come down from that.”
Benji chuckles and presses a kiss to my sticky forehead. “You did so good. You’re perfect. Proud of you. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
“Can’t move. Bones are optional,” I say.
Rhys disappears briefly and returns with a wet washcloth and a bottle of coconut water. He sits beside me and starts carefully wiping the mess off my thighs, efficient but with so much care I nearly melt through the floor.
“I’m feeding you next,” he says. “You lost at least a thousand calories. Possibly your soul.”
“Paint tasted like cake,” I say dreamily. “I’m okay.”
“I’m not,” Jett says, dragging a hand through his hair. “She took all of us like it was nothing. I’m fucking trashed.”
Benji’s arms tighten. “I don’t share well either,” he says softly to Jett, not mad. Just honest. “But I’m trying. Because she wanted it.”
“I know,” Jett admits, jaw ticking. “And I didn’t touch either of you. Didn’t even look. But, fuck, it’s a lot.”
“She’s worth it,” Rhys says quietly. “You both are too.”
They’re talking around me like I’m a priceless object someone just set off a museum alarm to touch.
Which… fair.
“Everyone hush,” I say. “I’m post-multi-pronged-deep-dick delirious and you’re all too pretty to process.”
Jett drops to the floor beside me, one hand on my hair, the other hovering like he wants to drag me into his lap. His voice is low and hoarse when he says, “Next time, I get your pussy.”
“Next time,” I whisper.
Rhys hands me the coconut water. “Small sips.”
Benji strokes my back. “Want me to carry you to the shower?”
Jett grunts. “Or to bed.”
“I’m gonna need a towel,” I say. “And three slices of cake. And maybe a cigarette. I don’t even smoke.”
Benji scoops me up like I weigh nothing. “You’ll get all that and more.”
Rhys follows us toward the bathroom, muttering about hydration.
Jett slaps my ass on the way past and says, “I call next round.”
Washed and dried, they carry me to the bed. I yawn so hard my jaw pops. Rhys tries to adjust the pillows behind me and I bat his hands away. “I am a goddess among men and I am so tired.”
“You’re fucked out,” Jett says, almost fond.
“Language,” Rhys snaps, tossing a blanket over me like I’m a toddler who just tantrumed through naptime.
Benji curls in behind me, arm draped around my waist, face pressed into my neck. “Love you,” he whispers. It’s not new. But it still makes everything in me go quiet and soft and pink.
Rhys smooths a thumb between my brows. “You are mine.”
“You wish,” Jett says from the other side of the bed. His voice is low and lazy and still a little ragged. “I got next.”
“You got her mouth,” Rhys says primly.
“I got her first,” Benji says into my shoulder, not even opening his eyes. “And she came so sweet for me.”
“Can we not,” I say, half-asleep, “count orgasms like trading cards?”
Rhys leans down, kisses my temple. “Sleep. We’ll fight over you in the morning.”
“Again?” I sigh, already slipping under.
Benji kisses my hairline. “Always.”
And with that, the room falls into the kind of silence that only happens when a girl’s got three oversexed lunatics wrapped around her body and no more fucks left to give. Warm limbs. Sticky chests. Someone’s foot is on my calf and I don’t care.
Mine, mine, mine.
I sleep like a queen.